Finding Jennifer Jones (13 page)

Jennifer pulled the new clothes towards her. She buried her face in the green blouse with its lace collar. Her eyes blurred but there were no tears.

Today no one would need to save a seat for her.

The courtroom looked a bit like a church, Jennifer thought. It had a lot of wood and there were pews for people to sit on. When she entered it was noisy and full of people. The court usher guided the policeman, her and Jan in. The sound of talking grew quieter as she followed him around the back of the room. Then it was completely silent and she knew without looking that every single person was watching her. The policeman stood back and Jan edged her towards the central box with glass sides. This was called the
dock
and it was where she was to sit. It had all been explained to her in advance by Alma. It was where the accused sat so that everyone involved in the trial could see them clearly. She had also been told what to expect. The court would be full of grown-ups. Some would be wearing gowns and wigs and there would be a lot of talking.
She
was not to speak at all unless someone spoke to her. She was to sit quietly next to Jan or one of the other Facility workers. If she needed to go to the toilet or speak to Alma she was to write a note and give it to Jan.

She stepped inside and saw two chairs. They were both placed on a platform that had been built with new wood. It stood out against the rest of the box. She puzzled over it but then knew why. It was so that when she sat down she could see over the wooden side of the dock. The dock had not been designed for children to sit in. No one expected a child to be accused of such a crime.

The seat felt hard and cold when Jennifer sat down. Alma had told her that once she was in the court she should look straight ahead. She did this for a few minutes as the murmurings of conversation started again, this time with a whispered sound, as though people didn’t want anyone to hear what they were saying. Then she looked casually around to see where her mother was sitting. Her eyes swept the rows of faces deliberately not pausing or making eye contact with anyone, just looking for the familiar face of her mother. What would Carol Jones look like today? She had told Alma that she knew how to dress for court. Did that mean she would have a dark suit like Jan was wearing? Or a jumper and skirt? What would her hair be like? Puffed up? Or combed round her face, flat and plain?

She saw a face she knew and her eyes stopped and rested on it. It wasn’t her own mother, it was Mrs Livingstone. Something squeezed at her insides as she fixed her attention on Michelle’s mother. She sensed people around Mrs Livingstone noticing her looking but she couldn’t pull her eyes away. Mr Livingstone was there beside his wife. He appeared just the same. Jennifer would have known him anywhere. His wife seemed to have shrunk though. She was only a fraction of the woman she had been. Her long red hair had been cut off as though someone had run a razor over her scalp. Her eyes looked huge and she stared at the front of the courtroom, her gaze unbroken by Jennifer’s greedy eyes. Even though there were whispers and gasps from people around, she did not look at Jennifer, not once. Neither did Mr Livingstone (
call me Frank
).

Jan must have noticed her looking because she put her hand on Jennifer’s arm and pointed towards the front of the courtroom, indicating the place where her eyes should be. Jennifer tried to stare at the empty judge’s chair, wondering all the time whether Mrs Livingstone was looking at her
now
, fancying that she could feel the woman’s eyes burning into her skin.

There was noise from the back of the courtroom. The doors were opening and someone was coming in at the last minute just as the proceedings were about to start. Everyone looked round. So did Jennifer.

It was her mother, saying a whispered sorry to the court ushers. She was wearing a mac and her hair was pulled back in a neat tie.

How
could
she be late?

She looked up at Jennifer and gave her a quick wave and a muted smile. The usher was pointing towards the front and her mother was fumbling with her bag and an umbrella. She took some steps towards Alma who had saved some seats for her.

But Jennifer wasn’t looking at her mother any more.

Behind her was a tall thin man who was wearing black trousers and a dark jumper. Over his arm was a raincoat. His head was bald and he had rimless glasses on. He glanced up at Jennifer but had no expression on his face. Even though she was far away from him she imagined an image of herself in each of his lenses.

It was Mr Cottis. Her mother had brought him with her to see Jennifer on trial. She looked down at her lap, her hands clasping each other, tightening, squeezing the bones of her fingers. Jan leaned across her.

“Don’t cry, Jennifer, the judge will be in soon,” she whispered, pulling a tissue from a box that was on her lap.

But Jennifer couldn’t help it. She didn’t take the tissue but used the sleeve of the green blouse to wipe her eyes. Then someone knocked on a table with a hammer, startling her. A wooden door opened with a baleful creak and the judge swept into the courtroom.

PART THREE

EXMOUTH

Eighteen

A letter arrived just as Kate was leaving for work. It had a London postmark and her name and address was written in neat handwriting. She sensed it was from Lucy Bussell. She stood at the hall table and started to open it but suddenly felt odd, apprehensive. It was almost three weeks since she’d written to Lucy. Then she was firm and resolute; her motives had been clear, to make an apology of sorts. At the time she’d been brash about breaking her terms of release. It was as if she hadn’t cared a jot for what the authorities might do to her. Now, after recent events, she didn’t feel so confident about what she had done. Her experience with the police had unnerved her and instead of not caring whether or not she was punished she now dreaded the prospect.

Something else worried her. What if Lucy’s reply was harsh? What if there were cruel words in it? She didn’t think she could stand that.

She put the unopened letter into her bag and went to work.

All morning she thought about it. She wanted to slip off into the staff area and look at it in private. But work was busy and she simply didn’t have the time to stop. It was her last week in the job and it had become hectic in the lead-up to the August bank holiday weekend. The influx of visitors to the town seemed to have increased and there were constant enquiries about accommodation, theatre bookings, two-for-one deals at local attractions. At times the shop seemed close to bursting. Outside, on the esplanade, work was going on in preparation for the festivities. Bunting had been strung between lampposts and the shops along the front were decorating their windows.

When it was finally quiet Aimee came across to her with the work diary in her hand.

“Kate, you’re finishing this week. Last day Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said. “It’ll just be me and the volunteers. Not that I don’t think they’re fantastic, it’s just that … ”

Aimee looked at the computer with consternation.

“I could show you some stuff on the computer, Aimee. It’s really easy!” Kate said.

“I know. You’re so sweet, Kate. And that’s why I wanted to ask you a favour, about Saturday?”

“Sure.”

“Could you possibly do my shift in the afternoon? I mean could we swap? I’ll do the morning and you come in at one? Only I’m taking Louise to her dad’s for the long weekend. He said he’d come and pick her up but I wanted to go myself and check out his living arrangements I don’t want my Louise in some squat type property. I want to make sure it’s clean and proper. I’ll pop back in at the end of the afternoon to say goodbye.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure his place will be nice. He wouldn’t want his daughter to stay anywhere dodgy.”

“You sure it’s OK? I know you said you were going camping the day
after
you finish work, so it shouldn’t interfere with your plans.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“See how I’m going to miss you! Tell you what, I’ll make some tea. I’ve brought a packet of those pink wafer biscuits. They’re my favourite, apart from chocolate…”

“And the diet?”

“After the bank holiday. Then I’ll start.”

Just after two Kate went out for a quick lunch. She bought a roll and some water and walked towards the beach. It was hot and the air seemed heavy. There were hardly any windbreaks on the sand and lots of people were lying by beach tents in which small children were sleeping. There was music coming from a radio somewhere, a soft female voice singing something melancholy. Kate sat on a flat rock close to the water’s edge. She kicked off her shoes and let her feet rest on the hard wet sand.

Then she opened the letter.

It was three pages of lined paper closely written, torn from an A4 pad, the punched holes still there. She unfolded them, smiling to see the small neat handwriting, line after line of it. In the middle was a surprise. A small photograph sat in the fold of the paper. It had been cut from a strip of photos, the kind that gets taken for a passport or maybe an identity card in college. It showed a girl’s face. On the back was written,
Lucy, 16
. Kate searched the tiny picture for some memory of the eight-year-old child that she’d known. It was impossible though. The picture showed a rather serious girl who had short spiky hair and who wore heavy earrings and dark lipstick. There was no resemblance at all to Lucy’s younger self.

She read the letter, her roll and bottle of water untouched. The tone of the first few lines pushed the worries of the morning away.

Dear Kate (for security reasons I’ll call you Kate). Thank you for your letter. I was on holiday when it arrived, so that’s why it’s taken a long time to reply. I was surprised to get it (but was not alarmed as you thought I might be). You asked what my life is like now. My mother, my brother Stevie and I are living in Wood Green, North London. Stevie is going to get married in October and I am going to be a bridesmaid. He is only staying with us while he and Terri (his girlfriend) decorate the flat they’re renting. Mum and I are waiting for a housing association flat, a kind of sheltered accommodation. Mum’s health isn’t great (you probably remember). I’ve just finished my GCSEs and am waiting for my results (any day now). Then I’m going to do A levels at the local sixth form college. Stevie says it’s a waste of time going to college but I usually totally IGNORE him. So that’s my family situation.

I had a boyfriend for two years but we split up recently. We’re still friends and I don’t have anyone else yet. He’s seeing this girl in year eleven (although there is gossip about her, but it’s up to him, it’s his choice). His name is Donny and I miss him sometimes but it is definitely over now.

Thank you for saying sorry about what happened at Berwick Waters. I haven’t forgotten that day but it’s not on my mind a lot. The truth is I hardly ever think about it. When something comes up in the newspaper or it’s mentioned then I do remember. But I don’t get upset about it. It was terrible (what happened to Michelle) but I don’t think you meant that to happen so I don’t blame you (whatever the newspapers said). I feel very sad for Michelle’s mum and dad. That goes without saying.

The newspapers said I was a witness but I wasn’t. That night was unreal. Michelle didn’t come back and Michelle’s mum couldn’t stop crying. I even saw her dad wiping his eyes with the corner of a tea towel. When I told her mum that we’d been up at Berwick Waters it seemed as though I’d lit a firework and it was fizzing waiting to go off. When you went off with them up to the lake I was expecting to see you come back (and hear what had happened). But later that day social services came and I was taken to foster carers. I spent months with them (Susie and Mike Robertson, they were really nice). The absolute truth is that I didn’t even KNOW what had happened up at the lake until a long time afterwards when my brother Stevie told me. I found it hard to understand. I just couldn’t believe it, it was like a story or something. Then Mum came out of convalescence and she and me got a flat in Chelmsford and I guess it just slipped out of my head. Stevie and Joe lived with us for a while. We’ve moved around a bit since then (stuff happened) but I think we’ve settled in Wood Green now and I’ve got a lot of friends (and that’s one reason why I’m not really worried about Donny and this new girl). I am nervous about going to the college though. Stevie says I can change my mind up to the last minute and that Terri will get me a job in her hairdressers, but I don’t think I will.

So you don’t need to say sorry. I always knew that whatever happened, you would be sorry. You were that kind of girl, mostly nice and friendly.

If you’re ever in London call by and see me (London’s HUGE. You’d need to get a map but I’m about ten minutes’ walk from Wood Green tube station). My mobile number is at the bottom of this letter.

Lucy Alexander (Bussell)

Kate read it over again and glanced from time to time at the tiny photograph as if she might imagine this girl speaking to her. Then she sat back. Lucy Bussell’s words made her feel heady.
I don’t think you meant that to happen
. Other people had said similar things to her over the years; Jill Newton and Rosie. They had known that she hadn’t meant it to happen.

But Lucy had been there on that day. Her words carried more weight.

Now she lived in London with her mother.

Almost eight million people lived in London. Kate had looked it up on the internet the night before. When she stayed in halls in her first year at university there had been a number of girls from London. They talked about what it was like to live there, the traffic, the noise, the closely packed housing. It was an all-night city, they said. The pubs and clubs were open late and there were night buses and the sounds of horns or sirens into the early hours. Kate recognised this. Living in Croydon for nearly nine months had given her a taste of the big city, even if it had been on the outskirts.